I am George Weasley
by VanillaAshes
Summary: George trying to get over the death of his twin. One Shot. THC.


**THC - Round 5 - Year 1 - Hufflepuff - Additional - Prompt: Angst.**

 **Word Count: Currently 1660**

 **Betas: Magi, Aya.**

* * *

George Weasley took a deep breath as he forced his facial muscles to move in a way they hadn't done for a while. He stared in the mirror as he saw his lips forcefully turn upwards into what resembled a smile. It looked wrong on his face. It didn't match the sadness in his eyes or the tears that freely ran down his cheeks. After three weeks of being without his other half he had gotten a little better at pretending like he wasn't falling apart every two seconds. His family needed their own time to mourn the death of Fred, but if he could appear to be slowly accepting the loss of his twin himself, then it would make it easier for them to do as well. So that's what he did.

He reached a hand forward and touched the cold glass of the mirror wishing he could touch Fred's face again.

One of the things he hated the most – a thing that was probably insignificant to others – was that everyone reverted to calling him George. They lost their reason to mistake the twins name anymore now that Fred was gone. What if he was Fred? What if their name switching they were known so often to do confused even themselves on who was who in the end? Was he really George like everyone said he was?

He knew it wasn't Fred's death that forced him to be George; it was getting his ear blown off that did. He didn't have a choice but to be George when his other half happened to call him that name in front of everyone, he could have just as easily been called Fred and everyone would have believed it. But for the first time ever, the twins lost the game with their facade, and they had to take on their respective names as their sole identities then on.

You see, for years – well, ever since George could remember – every morning the two of them decided which name they would be. Sometimes he was Fred; sometimes he was George. There was no real pattern to it, either. They did everything together anyway, so often times it didn't even matter to them. Both were Beaters, both lived in the same room, same classes, and opened a store together. The two of them were inseparable. Until they were.

Even looking at his own reflection wasn't enough. He'd lost an ear; he no longer looked exactly like his twin. He couldn't even pretend anymore that it was his brother looking back.

Fred had died and he had taken more than anybody realised. Gone was George's whole identity. Nobody knew who George was as an individual, not even George.

Angrily, he wiped his tears away. If he couldn't deal with the differences in the mirror and not being able to see his brother smiling back at him, how was he going to deal with the inevitable changes that would occur as he grew older? Fred would never have grey hair or wrinkles. He'd never have the chance to meet somebody he loved. Never would he smile or laugh again. The sound of his voice was now lost – never to be found again. George didn't care what anybody said – he and Fred _did_ sound different.

A long time ago, he had wished that somebody, _anybody_ was able to tell them apart. That he could go by one name and be his own person for a short while. That didn't happen and he accepted it. Accepting that he would always be known as Fred as well as George was fine. It became normal and they decided to make it harder for everybody to make the mix up fun to them rather than bothersome. The closest person to get them correct most of the time was their mother, because even though they tended to lie to her, outsmarting a Mother's intuition was quite difficult, and knowing that she was the only one to identify them frequently – whether they admitted it or not – made their relationship special. It also gave them the never ending challenge to try and outsmart her. That was until now – Molly Weasley didn't even doubt it anymore. That was another stab in the chest.

* * *

George walked aimlessly down the road to his store. It was just his now. He had to make a decision about whether or not to keep the store open on his own. Nobody else could decide; there wasn't a second person to debate with over which would be the best decision.

George knew that if Fred was here there would be no question as to what to do with the store. They'd keep it open. But was that Fred's decision? George's decision? Was it both of their decisions? Neither? George no longer knew.

"George," somebody called his name.

They knew exactly which Weasley he was. No hesitation. No chance for him to lie or pretend he wasn't who they were calling. He looked over to see Angelina coming over to him. He tried to smile, to remember the good times with her – after all, he was going by Fred when he'd taken her to the Yule Ball – but it didn't work. "Angelina," he greeted simply as she reached him.

She sent him a sad smile. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. How are you?"

Part of him wanted to lie. To keep up the charade that he was coping. That the loss of his brother hadn't tore him apart completely and left him as an empty shell without a proper identity. But he had been friends with Angelina since they were eleven. In some ways, she knew him better than others. He was sure that she knew how often they swapped names but never said anything, always laughing and hanging out with them regardless. She had been his first kiss, and Fred had never had those sort of feelings for her – that had been the twins' first difference. But he would always be George to her. "I'm a mess."

Angelina rested a hand on his arm. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Where are you heading?"

George looked down the path at his shop. He briefly saw Ron in the window failing to work out a product that he was probably trying to sell. His younger brother had been the most consistent and loyal one of the Weasleys to help keep the shop going. George had been the least helpful – if he made it through the doors, it would have been the first time by himself without his twin.

Angelina followed his eyes and the sadness seeped into them. "I heard a rumour you might be closing it?"

He shook his head at her words. "No. I could never close it." That would be losing another part of him and Fred. Getting rid of another reminder was unthinkable even if it did cause him immense pain everytime he thought about it.

"That's good. I always liked that place."

George looked passed her towards the joyous store. "Join me?" At her hesitance, he added in full disclosure, "it'll be easier walking in there with a friend."

She nodded. "Sure."

The two of them fell into silence as they began to take steps towards the shop. Would George feel the same entering it? Would there still be laughter? Did life continue on without Fred? That was one thing George still hadn't worked out – how on earth did life continue now that Fred was gone? How did the earth not explode or freeze with his death? And most puzzling, how is George still alive without Fred? How did that even happen?

He was pulled from his mind when Angelina took his hand. They were mere feet from W.W.W. before he jerked his hand from hers and Apparated off. He just couldn't do it.

* * *

George instantly fell to his knees at his brother's grave and banged his fists against the ground violently. He ignored the pain he inflicted on himself.

"Why? Why did you leave me? I can't do this without you! I don't know who I am anymore!" he screamed at the inanimate object. The gravestone did not respond, not that George expected one. "You should have stayed by my side. I should have gone with you. We should be together, alive or dead, I don't care. As long as we are together." His words were turning into sobs. They were unintelligible to anybody who might hear him. But he knew his brother would understand. "Just come back. Laugh at me for falling for the prank. Please! I know it's hard to prank each other because we have the same mind but if anybody could prank me, it's you. Come on. Please," he begged hopelessly.

George continued muttering on for a while before wiping his eyes and sniffling.

"They keep calling me George. How long have we kept that joke going? Them getting the wrong name all the time? It was funny. But now they're mourning me, not you. That's probably better… I can help them mourn me, as I mourn me too. It doesn't matter what name our mother gave us when we were born; you were never fully George and I was never fully Fred. We were Fred _and_ George." The broken Weasley looked up at the gravestone that read his real name. "I don't know what to do, George. Until I do, I'm going to be you. I can play George… it's easier than admitting the game is over, that I'm Fred and George is really and truly gone. In a way, you'll live on with me… George will be here, and Fred is here too. It'll never be the same without you and I'll never forget who I really am. I'll never forget you and I'll make sure nobody forgets the name George Weasley."


End file.
